The Ghost Writer
by Doctor Foster
Summary: Larry stays at home: Rita visits a second-hand bookshop.


5

The Doom Patrol: The Ghost-Writer (Part 1)

Rita emerged from the bathroom, completely unclothed, and entered her bedroom. There she dressed, finishing off with a simple one-piece dress of oatmeal colour that was elegantly and stylishly cut. Once completely dressed, she momentarily returned to the bathroom to comb her hair through with her fingers. Only when she was satisfied with her appearance did she move towards the kitchen and proceed to gather the things that she needed for her breakfast. As she did so, she listened to some classical music on the radio – a Chopin Nocturne – while she prepared and then ate her morning meal.

After breakfast, Rita readied herself for the outside world. She only ever wore a minimum of face makeup so she only took a few moments to apply some mascara, lipstick and brush her hair. She then gathered up her coat and left her apartment.

Larry's apartment was across town from where Rita lived and the difference between the two apartment blocks was stark. Whereas Rita lived in a modern and exclusive building, Larry's place of residence was a rundown brownstone building located in a rundown neighbourhood that was ripe for redevelopment.

Rita used the key given to her by Larry to open the door to Larry's rooms. "Larry, it's me!" she warned as she closed the door and slipped off her raincoat – hanging it on the empty coat-hook next to the door. The armchair facing the television was unoccupied but the television set was switched on, as was customary, and was set to a twenty-four hour news-channel which was Larry's usual station of choice. By this indication, Rita assumed that Larry was somewhere in the apartment and proceeded to maker herself at home.

She went straight to the small kitchenette, picked-up the kettle and filled it from the faucet. She then switched it on to heat-up and found two cups from a cupboard. "You're out of coffee," she announced before adding, "So I'm making tea; is that alright? I'll bring you some coffee when I come, tomorrow." There was no immediate answer from Larry so she went to the door of Larry's bedroom thinking that perhaps he was asleep. The door was slightly ajar and from within, she could hear a girlish giggle. Rita's blood ran cold at the thought of Larry being in his bedroom with someone else.

Very cautiously, Rita eased open the door and peered inside. She was somewhat shocked at what she saw: Larry, completely unclothed except for his bandages, was lying face down on the bed while Enid Bassett was sitting on his back and legs. Enid was wearing a short navy-coloured skirt – much like a school gym-slip - and nothing else. She was clearly oblivious to the door having been opened and was busy massaging Larry's shoulders.

Rita stood in the doorway for far longer than she had intended. It was as if the spectacle of what she saw held her rigid and unable to move. Enid finally noticed Rita and paused in her pummelling of Larry. "Hello, Rita," Enid said brightly.

Larry looked up from his pillow and saw Rita standing in the doorway. Immediately, he sprang up from his supine position and, in so doing, pushed Enid away to the foot of the bed. "Rita! I didn't hear you come in," he said.

"That was very evident." Rita spoke pointedly and then added by way of an explanation: "I did call out but you were obviously intent on other things."

"You remember Enid," he replied with a nervous laugh.

"Hi," Enid smiled, clearly without an ounce of shame or regret.

"Yes, I remember Enid." Rita directed a withering look at Larry's masseur and said, "Would you leave us please. I have something to say to Larry."

Enid glanced at Larry as if to confirm whether he also wanted her to leave.

"It's okay," he said. "Give us a few minutes."

In response, Enid gathered up her clothing from the floor and, still smiling defiantly, left the apartment.

Larry spoke first in an attempt at an apology. "Rita … Enid was just giving me a massage, that's all!"

"Put some clothes on." She looked around the room, noticed his dressing-gown and threw it at him. "Larry, she's eighteen years old!"

"And I told you … we weren't doing anything! She was just giving me a massage! It's agony having to wear these bandages all the time!"

Rita turned on her heel and left the room as Larry finished dressing. He then followed her into the living room. Rita was at the counter in the kitchenette, pouring the hot-water onto the tea when he entered the room.

"I've made tea," she said, her tone subdued.

"Thanks," Larry answered. He reached for his mug.

"Wait for it to brew," she chided before adding: "Why didn't you ask me?"

Larry was puzzled. "Sorry?"

"Why didn't you ask me? I would have given you a massage."

"You would?" Larry was surprised. "I … I didn't know."

This brief and hesitant conversation was followed by an awkward silence that lasted several minutes. It was eventually broken by Larry: "There's another book that I'm after. Would you be able to call into that store on Cross Street and get it for me? But only if you're passing."

Rita replied carefully selecting her words as if to make her point: "I never pass by Cross Street, Larry. I go there for you. What book do you want?"

"The same author, Karl Ullmann. This one's called 'The Crimson Knot'."

"Okay." Rita took a small notebook and pen from her bag and wrote down the name of the book. As she finished off her note she thought to ask: "Though perhaps Enid could get it for you?"

It did not appear that Larry had considered that option. "Enid, really, do you think I should ask …?" he wondered.

"No!" Rita snapped back. "I'll get it for you."

Larry paused at Rita's response before saying simply: "Thanks."

Rita was still upset and agitated when she finally left Larry's building. So much so that she decided against getting a cab and initially decided to forego the ride and walk towards Cross Street where she would look for the book that Larry wanted.

It was not long however before the grey sky gave way to a persistent drizzle of rain. Rita grumbled under her breath at the thought of her hair being ruined by the moisture and headed for a nearby subway station. She would travel in that way to her destination.

The book-shop on Cross Street was a dingy place located on the ground floor of an old brown-stone type building. Her several visits to the shop meant that she was familiar enough with the shop to ignore its uninviting and undistinguished yellow-brown exterior and march confidently inside. A door-bell announced her entrance and she smiled and nodded at the ancient brown-jacketed man who owned the place.

The shop was much larger on the inside than how it seemed from the outside and she advanced deep into the labyrinthine maze of well-stocked book-shelves that had been crammed into the shop. She knew from experience where the Ullmann books should be located – well into the maze and headed directly for the place. Arriving there, Rita noticed that since her last visit to the shop, additional books had been haphazardly stacked on the floor next to the place where the Ullmann books should be located. On a whim, she decided to check the spines of the stacked books first. As she did so she became aware that someone had followed her and was now standing looking down at her as she crouched near the floor. She turned to see who this person might be and was shocked to see a partially-clothed skeletal figure looking down at her. It was holding out a thin arm towards her and pointing at the stack of books. Rita backed away from the apparition and stumbled as one of her heels gave way beneath her. The figure though did not come any closer to Rita but continued to point a bony finger at the stack of books.

Rita could feel her heart pounding within her chest. She did not feel threatened by the eerie figure but nevertheless she was more scared than she would ever hope to admit. All she could think of to do was to say: "Do you want a book?" And even as she spoke she knew that her response to the apparition was the lamest sentence ever spoken to a skeletal spectre.

With a movement of its head, the ghastly figure indicated that it did indeed want a book and so Rita edged towards the stack and very slowly held up each book in turn for the skeleton's approval.

On reaching the second to last book in the pile, the spectre reached forward with both hands towards the book that Rita held. Its ghostly fingers though, passed right through the battered volume as it also did through Rita's hand. She felt its passing like an icy blast of air.

"This one?" Rita asked nervously. "You want this one?"

The spectre indicated for Rita to open the book and as she leafed through the pages it suddenly indicated for her to stop on a particular page.

"Read it," the spectral figure rasped, its voice sounding like the fluttering of mummy wrappings.

Rita looked at the page and began to read out loud. The words meant little to Rita though the spectre seemed pleased with her performance. As she glanced at the ghostly figure once more she noticed that it was a skeleton no longer but was clearly a man, still clothed in rags but now also clothed in the resemblance of flesh and hair. Its voice too was more substantial.

"Thank you," the ghostly figure whispered. "A writer gives part of himself to his work. Your reading of my words brought me to life again."

Rita's mouth gaped in wonder at what she was experiencing. "You wrote this book?" She looked at the author's name. "You are Theodore Carlisle?"

"Yes. I was … No, no, I am Theodore Carlisle, and this is my book. Look on the fly-leaf where I signed it."

Once again, Rita did as she was told and found on the inner cover of the book a few lines of neat handwriting …

"Now, give me the book."

Rita handed the volume over and the man was able to take and hold his creation. She watched him with a growing empathy for the emotion that Carlisle seemed to experience as he cradled his book in his hands affected Rita deeply. "Is there something I can do for you?" she asked.

"Can you make me live again?" Carlisle asked wistfully.

Rita replied that she couldn't. "That would be impossible," she added.

Carlisle sighed deeply and raised his eyes from the book to look at Rita. "Perhaps there is a way," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"Read this page …"

Carlisle handed the book back to Rita and indicated a page near the back of the book. "Here." He indicated with his finger.

Rita looked at the place that Carlisle indicated. The page seemed to be entirely blank.

"Look carefully," Carlisle explained.

Puzzled, Rita looked again and indeed words did seem to be appearing on the page. She took the book firmly in her hands and studied the page closely. The next thing she knew was that she was standing at the shop's counter and was handing over the money for the book that Larry had asked her to get. Then, having paid for the book she slipped it into her bag and left the shop.

Mark Merlin was wearing an immaculate, hand-made grey pinstripe suit, white shirt and a purple silk tie. He was standing across the road from the second-hand bookshop and was watching for Rita to make an appearance. When she finally left the shop, he discretely followed her through the crowds as she made her way towards the nearest subway station. He paused at a distance from Rita as she waited patiently for her train to appear and when she entered her train he followed her into the same carriage. Merlin continued to follow her all the way to her apartment block and it was only as she was about to enter the building that he stepped forward and spoke to her.

"Mrs Dayton?"

Rita was surprised to be addressed by her former married name. "I haven't used that name for several years. It's Ms Farr."

"Oh, sorry, "Merlin replied hurriedly. "I have been travelling for quite a while and wasn't aware of your change in marital status…"

Rita was tired and her irritation at the unexpected encounter was beginning to make itself known: "If you want an autograph," she began.

Merlin interrupted; "No, no, it's nothing like that. My name is Mark Merlin and for several years, in fact more years than I would care to remember, I have been investigating things supernatural."

Rita raised a suspicious eyebrow at Merlin's convenient appearance so soon after her encounter with the ghostly Theodore Carlisle in the bookshop.

"And I know that you have had a visitation or an encounter if you will, with something that is unexplainable."

"Oh and how do you know that?" Rita asked.

"It is an ability that I have. I am tuned into supernatural occurrences."

Rita smiled and moved to make her escape from the presumptive stranger.

Merlin called after her: "Please, Miss Farr, take my card. If you experience anything that is beyond your experience then you must not hesitate to get in contact with me." He then handed over his business card. Rita took it but did not even glance at it before placing it in the pocket of her coat.

"Of course," she replied before turning away from Merlin and entering her apartment block.

Merlin crossed the road and turned to watch Rita's apartment block for several minutes. He reached into his pocket for a cigarette, lit it and reviewed his recent conversation with Rita. Reluctantly, he acknowledged that it had not gone as well as he had expected and that she was unlikely to get back in touch with him. He determined therefore that, next time, he would have to be more persuasive.


End file.
